


Merely this and nothing more

by ApatheticRobots



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Sharing a smoke, because i cant have a story WITHOUT some character having a mental monologue, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApatheticRobots/pseuds/ApatheticRobots
Summary: Nick Valentine had always been something of an untouchable figure.Or, Hancock trips over a fence and gets his ass handed to him by gravity.
Relationships: John Hancock/Nick Valentine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	Merely this and nothing more

**Author's Note:**

> hey these two are gay and theres nothing you can do about it
> 
> no beta reader we die like men.
> 
> the title is a line from the raven
> 
> also i wrote this at like 3 am so pardon its quality

Even with all of Sole’s work, Sanctuary still got very dark at night. They had generators running, and put up lamps, and wired up all the houses, but the place was still only running on generators cobbled together from scrap. The lights dim. There were dark patches often. The main house they collectively dubbed the ‘Tool Shed’ was always lit (as that one going dark would be a safety hazard on so many levels) but the further away from it you went the more chance you’d end up in a blackout.

Hancock didn’t mind it so much. He could see well enough in the dark— perks of being a ghoul, he guessed. Besides, there was something peaceful about the quiet that nighttime brought. Widespread light pollution was a thing of the past, so when the streetlights went out, the cosmos stretched for miles.

That’s why Hancock stayed on the fringes of town. It wasn’t just because a lot of the smooth-skinned settlers gave him odd looks. He liked the quiet.

He took a hit of jet, watching the world slow down around him.

Liked the quiet indeed.

…

..?

He paused. Stared at the shadowed crevice between two houses, where he could see two yellow pinpricks.

His brain took a second to catch up but then he realized Oh My God those were eyes—

The jet wore off and he came back to the present, scrambling backwards and tripping over the remains of a white picket fence to get away from whatever beast with glowing eyes was watching him. Probably some irradiated something. He landed on his ass, his hat flying off, and the end of his coat flopping over his head and blocking his vision. He would have screamed if he didn’t suddenly have a mouthful of fabric. So instead he made a vague ‘apbtbpth’ noise.

“Whoops. Didn’t mean to scare you,” said a gravelly voice, slightly overlaid with static.

Hancock reached up to tug his errant coat down. The fabric obstructing his view was gone, letting him see that he was not being stalked by an irradiated monster after all. Just a metal jackass.

“Valentine, hell are you lurking around in the dark for?” he said, irritation covering embarrassment, “Give a man a heart attack.”

“Like I said. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The synth offered him a hand, the one that still had fake flesh covering it. He took it, and was hauled to his feet. “You should be more on guard, out here alone at night.”

“That’s what we got turrets for, ain’t it?” The defense system had worked rather well thus far. It only shot at Hancock once. Which was probably his own fault, as he’d been waving a knife around and shouting at the time.

Nick just gave him a look, one that clearly said ‘don’t be a smart-aleck.’ Hancock just grinned.

“So,” said the former, reaching into his pocket to pull out his lighter (the engraved one Sole had found for him) and a fresh cigarette. “What brings the good mayor to the outskirts like this?”

“Ah…” Nick took a drag of the cigarette, then passed it to Hancock. He relaxed a bit as the smoke filled his lungs. “Y’know. Just lookin’ for a moment, that’s all.”

“A moment, huh?”

Silence as the two shared a smoke.

Hancock glanced over at Nick. His eyes were still glowing, tinting his expression yellow, with the burning end of the cigarette throwing an orange hue onto his face as well. If Hancock didn’t know Nick would’ve given him grief for it, he would’ve almost called the synth beautiful.

As the cigarette burned down to the filter, Nick crushed it between two thin metal fingers, letting the ashes drift to the ground. He ground his heel against it to stop any remaining smolders.

“John…” Nick began. Hancock looked over, expecting him to continue, but instead just found the other staring at him, frowning slightly. Almost a pout. His lower lip jutting slightly.

“...You know your eyes glow, Nicky.”

Nick blinked. Glanced down at his hand, where the soft light followed and reflected off the cold steel. “I know,” he said, “hard to miss it.”

“Mm.”

Silence fell again. Nick drummed on the edge of the picket fence, looking kind of like he wanted to light another smoke, if only to have something to do with his hands. Or his mouth.

Hancock could give him something to do.

Nick Valentine had always been something of an untouchable figure. A character out of one of those comic books MacCready liked so much. The mysterious protagonist of some pre-war film, a professional with the garb to match. The shadowy figure illuminated under a street lamp that John could see out his window at night, watching the city with those glowing eyes like some kind of silent guardian. His parents told him not to bother Valentine— now he knew it was because of the fact that Nick was a synth and all the implications that came with it, but when he was younger he’d thought something more along the lines of  _ he doesn’t have time for some kid while he’s out being a hero _ .

He’d lost contact with the detective for a while after his brother’s election and subsequent auto-eviction from Diamond City. Only met up with him years later when he came to Goodneighbor trying to track down a wayward spouse. It had taken about two sentences and a good long look for Nick to recognize him. He wasn’t a detective for nothing.

It was different. The interactions they had now that John wasn’t looking up at Valentine anymore. The synth wasn’t so untouchable anymore. He was just a man. A man of metal and machinery, sure, but just a guy like Hancock or like anyone else he’d talked to.

If you had told John McDonough that in the future he’d be casually hanging out and sharing a cig with Nick fucking Valentine, he would’ve called you a liar and thrown something at you.

“I can hear the gears in your head turning,” Nick’s voice broke into his thoughts, “which is funny considering I’m the one made of nuts and bolts.”

“Ha ha.”

“Seriously, though. You’re thinking too loud. What’s on your mind, John?”

Hancock hummed. Glanced up at the sky. “You think the folks in Goodneighbor are doin’ alright while I’m out galavanting around the Commonwealth?”

Nick snorted. Or made a noise that was an approximation of a snort. “I think you’re sellin’ your townsfolk short. They’re a hardy bunch, not like the stiffs in Diamond City, they can handle themselves.”

“Yeah.”

A pause. “You ever miss it?”

“What, Goodneighbor? All the time. I miss how easy it was to get drugs there, or a nice partner in—“

“Not what I meant, jackass,” he could  _ hear _ the eye-roll in Nick’s voice. “Do you ever miss Diamond City.”

“Oh.” That actually made Hancock hesitate. He… wouldn’t say he missed Diamond City in the sense that he wanted to go back. He didn’t. Not ever. He’d accompany Sole if they asked because he had a soft spot for the Vaultie, but he made sure the visit went as fast as possible and they could get out of that place where it felt like the high walls threatened to suffocate him and there were a hundred pairs of eyes were watching his every move because of his wrinkled skin and dark eyes and—

No. He didn’t miss it. 

“I miss… how simple shit was.” That was more accurate. He didn’t miss the city. But he missed the life he’d lived there. “Before the Institute was anything more than a Boogeyman, and when ghouls wouldn’t get kicked out by people they thought were their friends. When it was just the McDonough brothers running around being little shitheads, not knowing just how bad the world was. It was easy. I miss that.”

Nick nodded slowly, more a sign he was listening than a response to what Hancock was saying. “Y’know,” he began, “they say nostalgia’s one hell of a liar.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “Personally, I think it’s better to live in the present. Don’t focus on how things were. Focus on what they can be. Not what you did, but what you can do now.”

Hancock snorted out a laugh. “You’ve been hangin’ around the popsicle too much. Sounds like just the kinda sappy motivational speech they’d spout off.”

Valentine laughed as well, sounding like he was gargling sand. “Maybe I have. They do have a penchant for getting folks’ asses in gear.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Hancock hesitated. His gaze fell on the synth beside him.

“‘What I can do now,’ huh?” he muttered. Nick looked over, at which point Hancock leaned forward and caught his lips in a chaste kiss, one hand resting on the synth’s shoulder to keep himself from tumbling forward and ruining everything. A few seconds passed. He leaned back. “How’s that for living in the present?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s Hancock, actually.”

Nick sighed. Hancock grinned. As per usual.

“You know I’m way older than you, right?”

“Hey man, I’m a ghoul. We’re, y’know, immortal or whatever.” He gestures broadly, a sweeping movement with his arms. “Got all the time in the world. I’ll catch up.”

A sigh, this time laced with fondness, and Nick wrapped an arm around him in a side hug. Hancock leaned into it.

“Hey John,” Nick said after a few minutes of silence. When he didn’t continue, Hancock prompted him with a;

“Yeah?”

“Earlier. What you said you were doing out here.” Nick looked over at him, glowing golden eyes illuminating all the jagged edges of the worn skin covering the steel frame that made up his body. He could not be described as conventionally pretty under any circumstances, but to Hancock, he was the prettiest damn thing left on this ravaged shell of a planet. 

“What about it?”

“...You find that moment yet?”

He paused. Then smiled, resting his head against Valentine’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think I did.”


End file.
